


Politics

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Dom Hux, sub Kylo [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Interrogation, M/M, Rape Roleplay, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux has an unusual request for his birthday. He wants to 'capture' Senator Organa-Solo. Kylo Ren agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stiletto Ren (Stiletto929)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stiletto929/gifts).



> Consensual rape roleplay. Violence, slurs, torture, humiliation, &c.

When Kylo offered to let Hux decide his own birthday celebrations, he had expected ‘blow job from under the boardroom table’ or something similarly _slightly on the side of wrong_. He hadn’t expected the General to actually have a detailed fantasy stored deep inside. Maybe he should have, because Hux always managed to surprise him. When he’d mentioned it, the other’s eyes had lit up with a sudden hunger, and Kylo had brushed inside his surface thoughts before he could stop himself.

“…oh.”  


“That alright?”  


It was just… it was just a little love game. Not real. Kylo couldn’t deny the thought of it sent a weird little thrill through him; a cold, wet sensation at the small of his back.

“Yes. Yes… it is.”  


“I’ll make the arrangements… _Senator_.”  


Shit. It was going to be interesting, to say the least. And so far removed from their normal love-play.

***

Kylo was glad no one else would see him like this. _Really glad_. Was this what the popular fashion ran to, now, or was this Hux’s own, personal tastes? He only ever wore his regulation uniform, or his regulation pyjamas, so Kylo had no idea. Or maybe he wanted to humiliate him by making him look ridiculous?

Whatever it was, Kylo had most assuredly made sure no one saw when he came into the interrogation chamber. Which he’d also made sure was _thoroughly_ cleaned before they started.

He was dressed in many layers, the colours vibrant and almost (but not quite) clashing. A soft, powder blue shirt which was joined to a collar high up to his jaw (like his own clothing), but cut under the throat to a sheer, translucent, diaphanous window that displayed his collarbones, and which left his shoulders behind bare. The collar held the fine strands up, and the shirt dipped deeply towards the small of his back, barely scooping together before his waist. The stiff collar was actually a little restrictive, almost a bit too tight to move his head, but still enough to breathe.

The shirt had long sleeves, but they came to V-shaped ends over his hands, held down by rings that slid over his middle fingers. Heavy embroidery over the cuffs, and under that he wore slender bracelets of silver links.

Over his shoulders was a heavy, silken cloak. The outside was a deep indigo, embroidered with swirling beasts and flowers, and it was so over the top that Kylo kept looking at it in horror. The lining was a paler, lavender colour, and of the kind of fabric that would catch and pull if it was worn in everyday life. The cloak fixed across his throat with a heavy, curbed silver chain. He supposed he should feel glad that it didn’t also attempt to choke him, like the shirt-collar.

Around his waist, cinching in the long, tunic-top was a broad belt in matte black leather. It was deeply embossed with sigils from Alderaan (a very sick joke) and closed with five buckles. The leather was unworn and stiff, and sat across his stomach, under his lowest ribs, making bending and breathing a little harder than usual. 

The slacks were a ridiculous, deeper blue. Kylo felt weird even sliding them on. The less said about the underthings the better. He had high, white socks held up with stupid little garters, and his boots were tailored to points, making his feet look even longer than strictly necessary. They also held a slight _heel_ , which was ludicrous. Only that shiny Captain was taller than him, and she was just some freak of nature (which was saying something, coming from him). 

He looked like some ridiculous bird of paradise, and he did not feel comfortable.

He’d refused the makeup request outright (no matter if it was still masculine to wear it, he didn’t want it on _his_ face), but he’d consented to the hair. Silver clips were placed at different heights over his scalp, and from those trailed fine, silver-woven ribbons. His hair was lightly braided with these strands, and then clasped at the nape of his neck in a brutal clip. 

Kylo hated it, and… yet… 

Looking in the mirror, before he’d come down… he could almost see another him. Another man, with another life. No Force-powers, just the name and training his family imparted to him. Making changes on a galactic scale - maybe even with more personal responsibility than he had, now. He’d stood tall and proud, chin raised, and remembered training from so long ago that the words had faded, leaving only distant impressions of orders to follow.

Yes. He remembered: fine wines he was too young to taste. Canapés, when it wasn’t sandwiches by the side of an old freighter. A life split between the rough edges and the fine. The dances, the endless strings of people one parent or another knew. Titles and ranks and alliances and allegiances. 

It had almost been him.

***

Inside the interrogation chamber, having put himself in heavy duty cuffs. They pressed behind the bangles on his wrists, scrunched up the fine fabric of his blue shirt sleeves. There were no troopers around (not to witness their little love-game), and so he had to pretend he’d been shoved in, and not walked in under his own steam. 

The General couldn’t read minds like he could, so there was a traditional table filled with tools and vials and other such crudery, which Kylo turned his head away from. The chair in the centre of the room, and the General flicked his eyes towards it.

Far be it for him to lay hands on his captive. Kylo considered refusing, but he didn’t know when the scene officially started. He got into the contraption, and held his wrists out for the cuffs to be released. 

There was a moment when Hux looked almost kind, and Kylo knew the gesture to be an invitation into his thoughts. He rolled through them, finding a swelling respect and adoration; a hungry, nasty little twist of lust; a question and a promise.

“Just don’t call me that - _that_ name,” Kylo said, aloud. “Anything else is fine.” He was not prepared to own his old name, not to open that particular basket, not now. Someday, maybe, but not now. It brought back too many old memories he needed not to engage with, and it also ran too close to the forbidden, and so he needed to avoid it utterly.  


“Very well. Shall we begin?”  


So, that was the start. Kylo thought for a moment, thought if he had any other limits, and then nodded. They both already knew how to stop something dead (Kylo more than Hux, as he knew he could use the Force if he had to) and so it would be… okay. Weird, but okay. Yes. “Alright.”

The change in his demeanour was instantaneous, and almost terrifying. For a moment, Kylo couldn’t help but be horrified by it, forgetting through sheer force of intensity that this was a _game_. Hux’s softened eyes turned ice-shard sharp, and his thin lips went from ones that kissed him in private to a thin dagger-streak of disdain. His posture straightened like a cocked bowcaster, and his gloved hands almost looked _clawed_. His face was wiped clean of connection, and the chill inside of his mind that Kylo could feel radiating off him made him wonder if this was a mistake. Just… how far did he want to take…

…breathe. Breathe. It’s just a game. Just a game, and you offered this. You agreed to this. It’s his present, and you’re okay with it. 

Kylo told himself these things, and then lifted his chin again. There was a shift of movement, and a blaster-muzzle pressed into the window of his tunic, holding him back against the chair. He stayed stock still as the cuffs were removed, thrown and kicked, and then his hands were shoved one by one to the side. The bracers around his upper arms went first, then one around his torso. The gun stopped pressing into him, but still pointed at him as the General dropped briefly to bind his ankles into the contraption, too. He tensed against them, feeling how firmly he was held.

(The Force would let him out, if he needed, but he wasn’t going to use the Force, so the point was, of course, moot.)

“Senator Organa-Solo…” the blaster reholstered, the man standing at ‘ease’ that was never easy. “How good of you to join me.”  


“You didn’t exactly give me a choice, General…?”  


“ _Hux_ ,” the man offered, his lips curling from his teeth in a feral smile at the fantasy. “Oh, I believe you had every choice to consent to this.”  


“Choice to consent? What kind of choice is that?” Kylo’s nostrils flared with mock outrage, close to real outrage. “You will release me at once.”  


“Or what? You’ll run to _Mother_?”  


That was too close to the bone, and Kylo had to fight back a wave of Force-fuelled irritation. The tray of tools - sterile, silver, sharp - shook where they sat. “No,” he spat. “The Senate. The Republic.”

“Do you see them here?”  


“No, there’s too many of them to fit in your ridiculous play room. Tell me, do you bring everyone here, or just those with diplomatic immunity?”  


“Only those who require my _special_ attentions.” 

He made that sound so filthy, and Kylo hated himself for the thud of blood lower. No. Stop. He was supposed to resist. “What do you want?”  


“I want your vote on the proposal my ‘friends’ are pushing through the Senate.”  


“You mean the ones designed to strip liberties and increase your military rights? Why would I promote tyranny and martial law, and reduce personal freedoms?”  


“Because I asked nicely.”  


Kylo pulled hard against the restraints, his neck whipcording from the effort. He was held, and no Force-insensitive would ever escape these locks. “ _This_ is what you consider ‘nice’? Kidnapping me, locking me up, threatening me?”

“I haven’t threatened you…” 

He walked over to the table, to the tools. His gloved hand slid across the counter-top, up to the handles. Kylo wasn’t sure if he was ready for any of those to be used on him.   


“…but I could start.”  


“General…”  


“Look at you. Dressed up like a pleasure barge. You’d make good pickings for a Hutt. I believe that runs in the family, doesn’t it? Satisfying the corpulent slugs–”  


He did _not_ have the right to bring up Kylo’s mother. Most assuredly not twice. Kylo kicked as hard as he could, pulled until he thought he might burst a blood vessel, and then went still as something resembling a scalpel was pressed under his throat. He went still, eyes _wide_  with horror. 

“Don’t.”  


“Don’t ‘what’, Senator?”  


“Don’t,” he repeated, fiercer, lower.  


The blade - blunt end? - ran across his throat, and Kylo didn’t feel any blood, but the threat was enough to make him stop thrashing. To still him utterly, because a single wrong step here _could_ be dangerous. Hux was not using training wheels on this speederbike, and it could go horrifically wrong. 

“You will approve my bills.”  


No. He wouldn’t. He let his eyes close, lashes on his cheeks, and focussed on his breathing. In. Hold. Out. Hold. The cold metal was warming against his skin, writing letters and promising death so close to his jugular, to his carotid. Down, down, and the tiniest prick that stung and did it maybe puncture him or was he just hallucinating and… there was a _snick_ when something gave, and for a moment he was convinced it was **him**. He opened his eyes in horror, looking down to see the stays holding the shirt to the collar coming undone, from one side to the other. The thicker fabric went, leaving only the sheer attached to the collar, holding it up. 

“… _no_ …” Soft, horrified.  


A hand over his throat, over the collar, forcing his chin up and the shirt taut. He felt as it was sliced clean away from the blue band around his neck, and then it tumbled down, falling to lie flat over the front of his torso. The sleeves stayed around his arms, but the front of his chest was bare, down to his nipples.

“You’ll want to obey me, before this is done,” Hux told him. “One way or another.”  


“I will never obey you,” Kylo said, head swimming with it. He looked in horror as a snick through the remaining fabric, then the scalpel was put to one side and the rest was ripped clean in half, all the way down to the belt. Hux pushed the layers open, like a set of curtains pried wide, letting in the sun. A cold sun, because Kylo was hot inside, burning like a fire.  


“Oh? Your body already is, you know. Is it always this responsive, or is this a special occasion for it?”  


“Wh– AHHH NO!”  


Kylo tried to fight the touches off, the slide of rough-glove-tip over and around one nipple, swirling little circles and pulling it ever higher. He was sensitive there, and he hated being touched too much. His heels drummed and he whined, despising his body for actually buying into this fantasy. He was - was he supposed to enjoy it? Or not? Was he supposed to cave at some point? When? When was enough resistance (hah) for his General’s little sick dream?

Around and around, then a pinch and a pull, and his mouth opened to pant. It felt good, and it was still _Hux_  doing it. Hux, who he trusted, outside (inside?) of their little role play. Hux, who brought him such regular bliss. How did you turn that off inside your head? He didn’t know.

“Such a good little bitch, aren’t you? Tell me: is that how you got ahead? Did you learn how to bend over and take it, or shove your nose into a cunt to let them ride that proboscis of yours?”  


“Fuck you!”  


“No, my dear Senator, that’s not how _this–”_ and a sharper twist, followed by a slap to the cheek that had Kylo’s head snapping to the side, “– **works**.”  


The slap made his head ring, and his jaw ache. It was not even that hard, but the shock of it was like a blaster-bolt at short range. Kylo was struck dumb for a moment, turning brown eyes back to him. “I won’t. Whatever it is you think. I _won’t_.”

“We shall see, Senator. We shall see.”  


Hux started to pace, then, around him. Pace and pause, pace and pause. Kylo felt eyes undressing him, even though he was now half-way there. The fine clothes already in the process of destruction, and he tried to breathe against the belt around his middle, feeling light-headed. He couldn’t turn to see, couldn’t track the predator in the room, and his hackles raised in protest. The hair on the back of his neck rose up, and–

–his head was pushed forwards, then grabbed by the clasped braid, slamming him back into the headrest. It staggered him, made his world spin… and by the time he realised what was happening, gloved fingers were in his slack mouth. He protested, trying to spit them out. They tasted of dry anger, and he started to panic as they swirled around in his mouth: over his tongue, over his palate, making him want to retch and gag. He couldn’t bite down because the other hand was pinching his mouth open, and the agony was sharp and bright. Kylo tried to breathe through his nose, his head going to strange places. Strange, not-here places, not in his body. He felt like he was half a foot to the left, and slightly up. Things happening to him were at a remove, and everything got a little hazy, until… as soon as it happened, the fingers were out.

His own saliva was smeared down his throat, and down went the hand to the belt. “You’re such a politician. Your tongue lies, but the rest of you didn’t get the memo.”

“…I…”  


The hand then moved to drag fingertips over his crotch, and Kylo felt the light touch like a splash of warm caf to the belly. He whined, and tried to pull away. “No! No… stop!”

“You want this, don’t you? My Force, you _do_. You want me to convince you the old-fashioned way…”   


“No… I don’t. I don’t. Please… General…”  


The hand turned to a fist, and punched. It hit the thigh, high up, and Kylo freaked at the thought it had hit his cock or balls. He yelled, and he was so far under that he didn’t even lash out with the Force. He tried to break out of the restraints, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried, he was circled and held. The hand groped him firmly, and he felt bereft when it left. His hips worked the air uselessly, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to be this into it, or not. 

“ _Pathetic_.”  


“Please…”  


“Approve my proposals.”  


Kylo would, probably. But that was Kylo Ren, not Kylo Organa-Solo. “Never.”

The hand went back to his crotch, curled around his manhood, and massaged him firmly. Kylo couldn’t deny it felt good, and he rocked into it, rocked into the deep touches. He shut his eyes in shame, not able to hold up his pretence for this little play act. He enjoyed Hux too much to really forget that, even now. 

“I thought I’d have to make you like this, but it turns out you’re just so desperate for it that you’re a little slut.”  


“I’m… I’m… **not**.”  


“Tell me, Senator: has anyone taken your little hole, or are you still empty, there? Has anyone ridden you like the bitch you clearly are, by how wide your legs spread? Or has it just been your face they’ve defiled?”  


Kylo wasn’t sure what the fantasy warranted here, so instead he spit in Hux’s face as an answer. He watched as the anger flared, and then he was surprised by the sudden release of all the clasps on him. A hand grabbed his hair again, dragging him to his feet. A fine press of something most likely deadly to the side of his neck, as Hux bent him forwards so his head was lower than Hux’s own. 

“You’ll regret that,” the General growled.

“I regret nothing.”  


“I tried to be nice. Looks like you just need to be shown what real power _is_.”   


Kylo was pulled by the hair, the sting of it making his eyes leak. He grabbed at the wrist, but he was slammed face down onto the trestle table. He yelped, the tools by his head jangling in proximity. Being closer to tools of torture was bad, and some of the fight went out of him. He felt his hands cuffed behind him, and then his legs were kicked apart so he sunk lower into the table, ass-up, fear swelling like a blossoming fruit-tree. 

“…no… no… don’t…”  


A hand on the cuffs between his wrists, pulling them up and away from his back. He had to arch, his shoulders an agony suddenly in the stress position. He arched onto the balls of his feet, and then there was something sharp snicking through the fine fabric of his pants, pulling fine cloth away and leaving his upper thighs and ass bare to the world.

No. Not bare. That damned, silky g-string he’d been forced to wear. The string deep in his crack, the stupid, soft sock around his cock. He yelped as it was tugged, the rough drag between his cheeks and then the tension around his prick. “Please… General, don’t do this…”

“You’re already hard for me, little Senator. I’ll see how tight you are. Reckon you’ll feel good, not too open like a real slut. Bet no one’s given you the _real_ fucking you deserve, have they?”  


“This… you don’t have to do this. You don’t. Please, stop.” Kylo didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how else to plead his case. He couldn’t give Hux the agreement for the made-up proposal, and he had no idea how you stopped someone from - well - raping you. He suspected if this were real that Hux would want to use him if he agreed or not, and he didn’t know what you could do to avert it once you were powerless and someone had their eyes on you.  


Kylo had never wanted to. Never wanted anyone who didn’t want him back, and he hoped Hux only enjoyed this because it was him, and because he had agreed. It was dark, and uncomfortable, and it was clearly tripping lots of switches in him. Kylo didn’t think he could play this the other way around, even if it was Hux’s deepest, darkest fantasy. Maybe, but he wouldn’t enjoy it, not the same way Hux did. 

Maybe it was that Hux felt Kylo was physically and emotionally strong enough to withstand his little nasty side, that he could take the beating. Kylo hoped he could, because this was odd, and he just wanted Hux to stop it, really. Wanted this to shift to their usual lovemaking. Maybe hard, as they sometimes did, but still filled with feeling. Could be the captor-captive bonding kicking in, or could just be that he cared intensely for him.

And he did. He did, or he’d never have agreed to this. Never agreed to demean himself so much that he’d wear ridiculous clothes and let himself be bent over a bench and touched with rough, firm fingers. The g-string was twanged, pulled away, and then a single finger (still in glove) pushed into him.

Rudely. With no lube, prep, or warning. Kylo flinched, tightening first, and then yelled in distress. It hurt. Not injury-hurt, but discomfort-hurt. Stinging, and not-right. His mind whited out, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from saying anything.

“ _So tight_ ,” came the purr from behind. “Oh, so very tight. I’m going to enjoy filling you up. Maybe I’ll even come inside you. It’s a privilege, if I do: to have First Order seed in your guts. You would be honoured if I did it.”  


“Please… I - I - we can… talk this through…”  


“It’s too late, now. You’ve got me aroused, Senator. Your pretty-boy lips and hair, your eyes, your too-wasted body… I’m going to have my pleasure with you, _and_ get your approval.”  


“…no! No. No… I’ll… I’ll si– s—” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t. Couldn’t agree, and the realisation was an AT-AT to the head. At speed.   


“I’m afraid so. And even better, I’ll have a record of all of this. You know that, don’t you? Holo-record. And then I’ll have it as proof of what we did, of how you liked it. Proof of why you said yes to my proposals, should you ever try to betray me. And… for my own pleasure.”  


There would be. A record. All sessions were put to holo as standard, and if Hux wanted to watch this later… there’d be him, bent over a table, with a hand between his thighs, and another pulling on the cloak. The damn cloak - and the damn chain - which was now across his throat and taut. Taut, and pulling harder. Harder, harder, and his eyes felt like they’d pop out of his skull as he scrabbled with his feet, not sure how Hux had managed to suddenly get hold of lube between all the movements, or if it was good to have lube on leather like that. 

With the slick substance, the finger went in deeper. It rolled around inside of him, and it didn’t hurt more than the dull sting of before. It probed and pushed, pressing into his walls and Kylo hated that it felt so good. He was weak for this, weak for firm strokes to his hole. For bending inside, for widening him up ready. For a jab to a place he yelped for, and he was humping the table and hand respectively. “S-sir… please… please stop…”

“I’m just getting started, you little cumslut. Don’t worry. You’ll get to feel the real thing soon enough. Tell me how much you’ll want that…”  


“N-not at all. Please… don’t. I’m begging you, please…” His mouth dry, tongue parched, lips tired from the false expression he’d been keeping in place.   


The cloak was unhooked, and then thrown away. Kylo didn’t miss it, though now he was wearing sleeves, a blue collar, a belt, and boots. Most everything else was in shreds, and never would be worn again. Such a waste. Such a weird thing to fixate on.

Three fingers in him, and he was riding them subtly. They felt good, and he might as well focus on that. The inside of his head was a mess, conflicted by the storylines and also the very real terror he couldn’t put away. No matter if this was a game or not, he could see how it could easily _not_ be, in another world, another universe. Not so far removed as to be impossible, and that was icewater to the veins.

“You see,” Hux continued, “…Order will always win. Not anarchy, not chaos. Order knows that if I press here…” right where Kylo bucked, “…that you will beg for more.”  


“N-no, I…”  


Again, again, again. The pleasure mounted, and Kylo was helpless. Narrative or not, his body knew Hux’s touch and would not resist it. He bounced back onto the hand, knowing he gave away everything when he did. Knowing he was lost.

“Tell me you want this.”  


“I–”  


“Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I’ll fuck you.”  


“Hux, I–”  


A slap to his face, a hand in his hair, and Kylo cried out as he arched uncomfortably. He… oh. He’d used his name, not his rank. 

“Tell me.”  


The guilt of transgression loosened his tongue. “Please. Please, General… fuck me.”

“You want it, don’t you? Want my cock in here…” Fingers flexing, hard. “Want me to fill you up.”  


A nod, or an attempt at one. Hair still held, he couldn’t. 

“Say it.”  


“I… w-want you to… to f-ffffuck me, Sir. W-want… you.” He did. His body was strung out and empty, even with the fingers. It always felt better when it was his cock, always felt closer. He liked when Hux penetrated him, maybe most of all. Liked how he filled him like he was meant to be there, and liked the sounds, the smells, the ricochet-slams of their hips together.   


Fuck the game. 

“Good boy,” Hux purred, and his fingers were out. 

Out, and then there was a noise of fabric, and a sudden, other pressure between his legs. Kylo spread them wider, tilting his hips with all the leverage he had. He wanted it deep inside, wanted to feel complete.   


“ _Please_ ,” he begged, without being asked. “Please, Sir. Please fuck me. Please. I - I - I’ll do what you ask, just… just please…”  


He couldn’t see Hux’s expression with his eyes, but the cloud of smug that floated between them told him enough. The first thrust was so hard it rocked the table, and Kylo cried out as he felt himself impaled. As he felt Hux push all the way in, reclaiming territory that was his, and his alone. 

“Good boy. Good boy. We’ll make a politician of you, yet.”  


Kylo nodded, and the hand on hip, the other in hair… they kept him still as the pace suddenly went brutal. Hux would often try to drag things out beyond Kylo’s lack of patience, but right now the scenario obviously had pushed him beyond his comfort zone, into this. Into a sound of skin on skin, and mingled, shattered breaths. 

Whatever the game was, right now all he could feel was turned on. Turned on and desperate, desperate for more, and desperate to come. His cock hung in the dumb sock thing, trying to wriggle out to arch over his belly. The string pushed to one side kept him in place, down, and it was a delicious agony. Harsh, grunting breaths by his ear, and Kylo’s back arched further.

“Harder! Please, Sir, harder! Please… want to come, want– I’ll vote, I’ll do wha-whatever you– OH PLEASE!”  


“Not. **Yet**.” Snapped out from between teeth, cruel and loving in one.   


“Please, please, please… need to, need to, Sir, so close… oooooohhhh…”  


“Not. **YET**.” Hux sounded close, too, and that was likely why he wouldn’t let him come, not yet. “Knew… you’d want this. Knew… you’d say– hgnn– _yes_ , ahh–”  


“ _Pleasepleaseplease!”_ Kylo’s boots scraped at the floor. “Pleaseletmecomeletmecomeletmecome.”  


Teeth sunk into the curve of his neck, the pain sharp and sudden, and Kylo nearly came from that alone. He needed to so damn badly, but he’d not had permission. He was going mad with it, out of his head with heat and lust-smoke, and his whole body screamed for Hux in agonised bliss. 

“Now,” came the whisper, in his ear.  


Kylo sobbed in gratitude, his orgasm strange and wonderful. Hope, fear, confusion, affection, terror, adulation, love. All of it, all at once. All at once. He rode the wave of it until his body couldn’t move, and then he took the brisk, angry slams of Hux’s body to his before he felt the familiar flooding sensation.

Oh, oh yes. Hux’s emissions, deep in him. In him, where he’d let no other. Where he _would_ let no other. He smiled, exhausted and satisfied. So deep down inside, so… floaty feel good. Maybe it was a side-effect of the mad breeding, but as they slowed to a halt, joined and aching, Kylo felt weirdly… closer to him.

He’d done it. He’d lasted through Hux’s weird little fantasy, and still made it through satisfied. He’d given Hux something dark, dirty, desired. He’d taken the beating, and done it because of how much he cared for - and respected - him. He didn’t feel sullied, or ruined. He felt powerful, and benevolent. He felt loving, and loved. 

“Just give me a moment,” came the soft voice of his lover, not the General-captor. “That…”  


Kylo smiled. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

Hands on his waist, kisses over his neck, and Hux cautiously showered him with gratitude. “Thank you, Kylo.”

It ached, still, but Kylo was pleased he’d done so well. He could cope with that again, maybe. Just not until he’d recovered. “Happy birthday, Hux.”

Now he got to be pampered, he was sure. Hux never failed to put out in that respect, and now he was due one hell of a TLC session.


End file.
